


The Alley

by sherlollyship



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1889640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlollyship/pseuds/sherlollyship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I finally wrote the sequel, thank you for being patient:) </p><p>(Also I apologise for any factual mistakes, hopefully there aren't any) </p><p>Hope you enjoyed it and a next chapter will be up hopefully quicker than this one.</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes limped across the street; he kept his head low, his face carefully hidden from sight. His back was slightly hunched and his clothes were weather beaten and too big for his frame. He scurried on, making sure he was noticeable, but not noted.

The old man hadn’t seen it coming; all it took was a clever disguise and a bit of pity on his part. The note he had given him was decidedly false, now all he needed was proof that would stand in court, which he had no doubt that he would easily find. He sniggered as he ducked into a hidden away alley. The consulting detective could easily have bribed one of his members of the homeless network to do the work for him, but he liked acting and besides there were some things that they simply couldn’t pick up on.

He started to pull of his raggedy clothes and flinging them behind a bin, revealing his suit underneath. He checked his shirt and gave his hair a ruffle before turning to the street. But then his eyes caught something in the corner and his mind raced like an engine.

Crowbar.

Blood.

Trails.

Trails.

Trails. 

Body.

Woman.

He ran to the slump figure lying limply on the stone tiles. She was lying face down. He carefully checked her pulse.

Weak.

Brunette.

Flowery top.

Not married.

Employed at hospital.

Missing pants.

Rape.

He did his best to not look at the poor woman’s state. The man had been brutal.

Molly has a blouse just like this.

No!

Molly’s shoes.

No!

His brows were knitted and his breath grew heavy.

No!

He took her in his arms with great care; afraid she would break under his touch and turned her over.

No!

Blood!

She was bleeding from her head and the blood soaked her hair. He took off his suit jacket and tie. Sherlock covered her and tied the tie around her wound to try to lessen her blood loss.

Molly Hooper.

Rape.

No!

Yes.

No!

Yes.

No!

Massive blood loss.

Her eyes were fluttering slightly.

Barely conscious.

“No no no.” He mumbled. He cradled her head in his lap and tilted her chin upwards, trying to free her airways.

The man found his phone, his hands shaking.

“Yes, Lestrade. Molly. She’s here, back alley 55th street, red brick house. She has severe injuries to her head, heavy blood loss. Yes as quick as possible! I will personally avenge her if they are not here within two minutes! Her pulse is weakening.”

He commanded, his eyes never leaving her face.

“She’s been raped. No! Don’t ask questions! Just get your excuse of a police force down here with an ambulance!”

He threw his phone down, breaking the screen, his teeth clenched. His breathing was becoming uneven. The air became stuffy. His eyes stung and a terrible feeling boiled inside him, threatening to send him crashing down.

Breath.

Breath.

Blood!

Breath.

Steady.

Tears pooled in his eyes. Shaking, he took of his shirt and stuffed it under the tie, applying more pressure.

What do I do!

Stay calm.

I don’t know what to do!

She is faltering, keep her conscious, talk.

“Molly, listen to me. Listen to my voice, don’t try to speak. I’m right here.” His voice came to a whisper.

“I’m right here. Stay here, stay here with me. Don’t let my voice fade.” He took her little hand in his.

Her pulse is weakening!

Keep her calm.

“Molly, think about your old house. You see it? The bright yellow paint, the green grass, the badminton net that can hardly be called a net anymore, I remember you telling me, the little patch of strawberries that grow just under the porch, that little cat you used to have named Lilly that would always pee in your parents room. Remember that? Stay there for a while, just till you feel better. Feel the grass under your feet and hear the whoosh of the wind. Are you there? I’m beside you; do you feel my hand holding yours? We go to the tree in your back yard, the one that’s perfect for climbing and we’ll sit there for a while. I can talk while you listen and rest until you feel better.”

He was squeezing her hand now, probably tighter than he should. His expression was tortured and tears poured mercilessly from his eyes. She was still.

“Just listen, don’t let the picture fade, just stay there until someone comes and tells us it’s time to go and we’ll go back together alright? I’ll help you, just please let me. Do you hear the birds chirping? It’s lovely isn’t it.”

Sirens could be heard wailing in the distance. He tried to pull himself together, but the shattering feeling wouldn’t let him.

“Just look at the clouds like I’ve seen you do, smiling at the strange shapes you find.” He laughed fondly among his tears.

“Do you see any now? Should I fetch you an apple? There are plenty in this tree at this time of year and we can sit here together and eat them while I point out things in the sky.”

He became slightly calmer. He stroked her hair gently.

“I think Lestrade is coming to fetch us soon. He’ll make sure you’re okay, they’re going to carry you away, but even though you won’t feel my hand anymore I’m still right beside you. I promise. There he is, he’s coming now.”

Greg Lestrade sprinted to their side along with a medical crew. 

He gave orders to the crew to transport Molly and Sherlock Holmes to the hospital. Sherlock accepted the blanket he was offered willingly.


	2. Wounds

It’s strange isn’t it, how hearts can synchronize; every beat is mimicked by the other. 

The heart monitor beeped steadily, and in turn did his own heart, for a brief moment he relaxed. But then the beep would slow down, become dangerously faint, and the very life ebbed out of him.

Sherlock sat there day after day, hour after hour, he hated seeing her like this but he never got tired of watching her. John and Mary would come by often, they would sit by Molly and talk to her for a while. Even though Molly Hooper was the one in danger, the one tight roping between life and death, John’s eyes would frequently wander to Sherlock, who sat by her side; always quiet he never spoke a word. John never saw him cry but his eyes were stained red. He would try to coax him to eat, just something. Sherlock hadn’t slept either judging by the rings under his eyes. 

Sherlock’s head was throbbing.

12:35 Saturday, eyes fluttered.

21:22 Sunday, finger moved.

21:23 Sunday, eyes fluttered.

23:40 Sunday, lips moved.

3:52 Monday, groan.

He kept repeating it to himself, sometimes in his head and sometimes out loud. She had massive blood loss and it could be fatal. The doctors said there was hope, but it all depended on her body. It had to endure and rebuild. There was nothing to do but wait and see her struggle to keep life.

It was killing him. Sherlock was going mad, being able to do nothing. He sat there; he bent every thought and all his will towards her recovery. Every single sign of strength he recorded and kept them for himself.

He wasn’t going to eat or sleep no matter what John said. Food meant distraction and sleep meant he was unable to watch her. What if she moved? What if her eyes opened? No no he couldn’t miss that. 

And talking, no that wouldn’t do. She needed rest, some quiet to get better. He settled with counting minutes and seconds and days until his brain was a clock. He refused to stir away from his task, soon he didn’t notice the doctors or visitors come and go. 

When John couldn’t get him to rest the doctors had their turn, but he was not fazed. 

Three days passed and he had not moved. On the fourth day they found him unconscious in his chair. He was given an own bed and placed beside Molly. The nurses begged them to; They couldn’t bare to take him away from her side, not after the long while he had waited. He got intravenous and his own recovery started.

And so a few hours later Molly Hooper awoke. She was alone for a few seconds, but then she had a look around the room. 

On her right side a curly haired, tall and lanky man was asleep. It took her awhile to realize exactly who was in her company. It was all a fog. She sat up slowly and was surprised to notice that her lower abdomen ached and she had a head wound that had been sown up. A steady headache was building and with a flood of memories she didn’t want to linger on. It was all a blur; pain, hands so many hands, touch, then a voice, a deep dark voice she knew well. For a second she frowned, but then another face was forming and it was not familiar. Molly was confused, there were several faces and her brain was playing mismatch with touch and faces. But the deep dark voice, she was sure who that belonged to. It was the man lying beside her. 

She smiled as images of her childhood home and a tree appeared. Had she been there with Sherlock? She couldn’t remember.

The voice spoke again, but it was clearer now, more present, in fact it was.

“Molly.” He groaned.

She turned her head a little too quickly to look at Sherlock, sending a pulse of pain through her head. She winced.

“Be careful Molly you’ll hurt yourself.” He sat up. “I missed it. Fuck! Did they knock me out? Wait no I didn’t eat, I forgot! Or sleep. Christ why am I so stupid!” He spat. 

“No, no don’t Sherlock. Can you please explain? I don’t remember much, only fragments.” 

He surveyed her, analysing her state. He sighed.

“You were raped Molly. I found you in an alley and ehm… well you were unconscious. I’m sure you can feel where you’ve been hurt. You had lost a lot of blood and you barely hung on. But you did it. Now lie down again and rest. Don’t try to remember, just, just don’t think too much. You’re still healing.”

“Was I home, in the yellow house in Applegarden street?” The little woman asked.

He gave her a strange look. 

“No, not quite.”

“That’s strange. I miss it…” she mumbled to herself.

“Maybe we should go visit sometime.” He stated. He noticed that his own strength was weakening a bit and he laid himself down again. 

“You’d come with me?”

“Yes, but first I have to finish this case. There is a man who needs a shot to the head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally wrote the sequel, thank you for being patient:) 
> 
> (Also I apologise for any factual mistakes, hopefully there aren't any) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it and a next chapter will be up hopefully quicker than this one.


End file.
